


Without Passion, We'd Be Truly Dead

by InkDomain



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Affairs, Angst, Goths, Graveyard Sex, Infidelity, Multi, Nothing explicit, Outdoor Sex, Revenge Sex, Threesome, alcoholics, implied sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 14:25:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15887862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkDomain/pseuds/InkDomain
Summary: Mary, Robert and Damien enjoy sharing a drink together in Maple Bay's cemetery. They also enjoy sharing each other, because they're all hurting in some way and just need a little love.





	Without Passion, We'd Be Truly Dead

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing but the story line.   
> Dream Daddys belongs to Game Grumps.   
> Inspired by Adrenalize by In This Moment, and Casual Affair by Panic! At The Disco.

The nights were always cold in this part of the States, but Mary never felt the chill down to her bones. The warmth she felt on the inside was due to her turtleneck and the bottle of wine she consumed throughout the day settled in her stomach. It was Saturday night, which meant that she would be meeting Damien and Robert in Maple Bay’s cemetery for a drink and to unwind. It was their time to be alone, enjoy each other's company, and just be with someone else who was also hurting but was too stubborn to show it. 

Damien’s presence brought a calming sensation to Mary’s and Robert’s usual delinquent behaviour when they drank together, plus the graveyard seemed to comfort Robert as much as it did Damien. Mary didn't mind being surrounded by the dead. At least the dead couldn't hurt you like the living. It helped that Damien ensured that the cemetery was kept in prestine condition. When Mary was with the both of them on these Saturday nights, the usual all-consuming need to numb everything to the point of oblivion was replaced with deep conversation and a yearning to better herself. That need was always stubbed out when she returned home to her broken marriage and neglected children. 

In the crook of her arm, Mary carried a woven basket containing items she promised she would bring. These included a packet of cigarettes, two bottles of the finest wine she didn’t mind spending Joseph’s money on, and a little something for later. If the other two were in the mood. She pushes open the iron gate to the cemetery, walking confidently as the small heels of her shoes click on the pavement. The clicks to announce her presence are replaced by the crunch and movement of loose rocks and gravel underfoot as she made her way towards the collection of headstones they resided at. 

When she arrived at their spot, she noted that she was the last one to arrive. The corner of her lipstick-stained mouth twitched upwards in a soft but signature smirk as she grew closer to the two men, putting more of a sway in her hips as she approaches. Their spot was a little to the left of the heart of the cemetery, under the large oak tree and surrounded by fewer headstones. Visitors usually went directly to their loved ones or to the mausoleum, but the graves near their spot had expired their family line.   
“Ah, Mary!” Damien announces when he spots her, straightening his spine as he stands with perfect posture from pouring a glass of Scotch for Robert. “Good to see you made it here safely.” He smiles, the twinkle in his purple eyes making her weak at the knees. She hides it well and puts up her walls.  
“Safe enough.” She quips, moving the basket to her side so she can accept the hug Damien offers her. She lingers longer than she’ll admit to, just to feel the warmth of someone who cares about her. Damien lets her go and she feels the cold along with the night's air.  
“What’s this?” Damien asks, nodding to the basket Mary still held. His curiosity was intriguing, it made her want to indulge.  
“I bought some toys.” She grins, noticing the tiniest hint of a blush on the pale skin of his cheeks. She doesn’t comment on it. She turns her attention to the other male in her presence; Robert. 

Already comfortable on the blanket Damien had brought, Robert sits with his back against the oak tree and a freshly filled shot glass. He tips his head to Mary in his own way of greeting her fondly. She tips her head right back at him, settling on the middle of the blanket and setting the basket in front of her.   
“Can I get you anything, Mary?” Damien asks, always the gentleman. Mary nods, taking what he’s offering.   
“Of course. Keep giving ‘til there’s nothing left.” Robert snorts through his nose, bringing the rim of the glass to his lips. Mary watches without him knowing as he knocks back the strong liquid, her eyes on the way the muscles in his neck worked the burning fluid down. She looks away before either notice.   
“Robert has claimed the Scotch as his own,” Damien chuckles, brushing his long ebony black hair out of his field of view with the back of his hand as he pours out the dark red liquid of the wine he had brought with him. “I tried to move the bottle for the candles and he almost removed my fingers from the knuckle!” Damien muses, causing Mary to chuckle.

Candles were a very Damien thing. He loved them, and honestly, so did Mary. A little mood light never hurt anyone- a true romantic at heart. The flickers of the burning wick were always mesmerising to the intoxicated. Damien checked that the candles were lit and not in danger of any wind before sitting beside Mary, handing her a glass of wine that was generously filled.   
“Thank you.” She tells him, not bothering to toast and brings the rim to her stained lips. Wine helped her the most. She could drink it during the day and convince herself that she wasn’t dependent on it. Even if she went to the bottle more than she did her children. Being an alcoholic is more accepted than taking medication anyways.

Small talk soon devolves into silence between the three of them, drinks were downed and the buzz of the alcohol is starting to set their blood alight. Robert remained against the trunk of the oak tree, but he had slumped down and had a glaze to his eye. Damien was almost laid down, his arms propping his torso up as he supported Mary’s weight. She leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder, her back on his chest, and she swirled the contents of her wine glass. They all had a soft pink to their cheeks. The candles had dripped wax onto the small plates Damien had them sat on to avoid staining the graveyard with it, pooling and cementing the candles to their post.

Mary was waiting for the right moment. Her heart had been racing the moment she had plucked up the courage to lean on Damien, who accepted her fully and didn’t complain about the weight. Joseph always shuffled away. She was getting too hot. She could feel Damien’s soft breath ghost over her ear and cheek as he had taken to reciting his favourite poetry. He always did when he was drunk. She wanted to feel his breath elsewhere. His lips were so close, his voice rumbling and soothing her into security.

Mary wasn’t worried about rejection. She took advantage of the guilt that Robert harboured for being one half of her husband’s affair. There were some nights where she needed something, and Robert had it- and vice versa. Sometimes, Damien joined. She was very protective of her goth neighbour, he was too precious for anyone else. He knew her true nature, the broken and insecure woman who wanted to be the perfect mother and wife but covered up her failures with a rude personality and regular visits to the liquor store. Mary knew by the glaze in Robert’s eye and his staring at her legs that they would have some fun tonight, but it was Damien’s call whether or not he wanted to join them. Truth be told, she wanted a dose of passion that Robert couldn't prove- she hoped Damien would stay. 

She wasn’t sure what started the events, but shortly after tilting her head to the side as in invitation to Damien’s lips, she felt the almost empty wine glass being removed from her hand. Her bones were like jelly, the liquor in her system keeping her mellow as Damien’s pale and nimble fingers cupped her cheek and directed her to face him. She allowed the movement, lips slightly parted as Damien searched her eyes for consent. Mary’s heart flutters at the simple action, and she leans forward to press her lips to his. He supports her as she kisses him, letting her take control of the kiss as he is faintly aware of rustling and movement from Robert. The alcohol and depression made her feel disconnected, her mind protecting its sanity by disassociating with reality. Her boys brought her crashing back, letting her feel.

It was nights like these that really made Mary feel alive, despite being surrounded by the dead. She forgot about Joseph, forgot about the children. She even forgot about the wine. All that mattered for once was her. Damien’s kisses are always filled with passion, leaving a fire burning inside of her even hours after they mess around. Robert had his own passion he gave to Mary and Damien, but his kind of passion was a self-destructive kind that liked to ruin everything around him. She doesn’t resist as she feels rough hands grasp her ankle, lifting her leg up to bend at the knee. The bristles of stubble rubbed through her tights, irritating her skin and setting her soul on fire. Robert’s left hand supported her leg, cupped under her knee as his right hand slid down the length of her calf. He slips off her black high heels, placing them on the grass beside the blanket Damien had brought. 

Mary was drowning in the kisses, in the love and affection these two men gave her. Damien’s love in its purest form, wanting to hold nothing back from her- but Robert’s had a sour tang of guilt under his. Their friendship was complicated. Both felt a sense of retaliation towards Joseph whenever they got together to exercise infidelity. Robert had removed her shoes and placed them out of the way, his leather jacket joining the slowly increasing pile of discarded items of clothing. Damien added his cloak to the pile when Mary broke the kiss for some air. She began to detach again, her body floating along being aware that she was grounded.

Damien’s fingers threaded into Mary’s burnt auburn hair, tangling himself into a mess as he added a light pressure to urge her to tilt her head. She didn’t need to be told, bending to his will as she felt Robert’s coarse hands slide up her legs and she visually mapped out his route with her mind’s eye and the sensation of his touch. She preferred keeping her eyes closed. She didn’t have to confront reality. Damien knew better than to leave behind marks despite his desire to do so. Hips lips found purchase on Mary’s pulse point, softly grazing the supple skin with his teeth, and resided with peppering kisses and light nips over the milky skin. The redness could be hidden by her turtleneck, avoiding a fight when she returned home.

Meanwhile, Robert’s hands had passed over her knees. His nails glided over her thighs, slipping under the modest black skirt and stopping when the waistband of her tights and underwear did. His skilled fingers hooked into the elastic, using little force to pull down both garments protecting her there and exposed her flesh to the night’s air. Mary lets out a small breath, an indication that she was enjoying where they were going. Neither man had any intention of stopping, and Mary’s sweet noises had them continuing.   
The candles had burned out.


End file.
